“By the time it’s over, you’ll be too old to enjoy any of it.”

I kept my back against the window, clutching the folder to my chest.

“I don’t care about the money,” I said. “I care about the truth.”

“The truth doesn’t pay for your groceries,” Victoria said.

“The truth doesn’t fix the roof on that rotting trailer,” she added.

She stood just three feet away from me now, the scent of her expensive perfume filling the space between us.

It was a sharp, artificial smell that made my stomach turn.

“We can make you very comfortable,” Victoria said softly.

“We can put a sum of money in your account that you’ve never even dreamed of,” she said.

“More than Garrett ever would have left you in a simple will,” she added.

“I don’t want your stolen money,” I said.

“It isn’t stolen,” Charles protested from the doorway. “It was our inheritance anyway.”

“It was his money while he was breathing,” I said, looking at him.

“And you stole it from him while he lay in that hospital bed.”